Page 42 of A Question of Character

“You are thinking of someone particular,” she said.

Darcy’s hand moved once across his knee, smoothing fabric that did not require attention. “Yes.”

“A gentleman?”

“He was raised as one.”

“That is not quite the same answer.”

“No.”

She waited. Mrs. Gardiner’s pen scratched lightly at the desk, then stopped, then began again with exaggerated purpose.

Darcy spoke after a short interval. “I had a childhood companion. We were educated, for a time, nearly as brothers. My father loved him, trusted him, advanced him whenever he could. I thought him amiable. Everyone did. He possessed that manner which wins affection quickly and makes suspicion appear ungenerous.”

Elizabeth’s confidence in her own discernment stirred, though she held her tongue.

“I was slow to see the alteration,” he continued. “Or perhaps it was not an alteration. Perhaps I disliked discovering what had long been there.”

“That is a painful distinction.”

“It has occupied me more than it ought.”

“And his conduct?”

Darcy’s face closed by degrees, not rudely, yet with such practiced restraint that Elizabeth knew she had reached the edge of what he would permit. “Less than honorable.”

She did not ask more.

He looked grateful, which made her glad she had spared him and curious about what she had spared him from.

After a moment, she said, “It must be very difficult to reconcile the memory of a boy one loved with the conduct of a man one cannot respect.”

Darcy’s eyes came back to hers. “Yes.”

The single word bore more weight than a longer answer could have done.

Elizabeth reached for one of the sugared almonds, rolled it between her fingers, and then forgot to eat it. “I have always prided myself upon being a remarkably good judge of character.”

“I believe you are.”

“That is because I have not yet judged you wrongly.”

His brows furrowed. “Have you judged me, then?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Should I be alarmed?”

“If you have behaved badly while under observation.”

“I hope I have not.”

“No. You have done very well.” Elizabeth ate the almond at last and took another to avoid the necessity of meeting his eyes too long. “But since you have confessed one fault, I suppose fairness demands that I provide one of mine.”

Darcy’s posture altered, interest overcoming whatever shadow his recollection had cast. “Just one?”

She pointed the almond at him. “That was unhandsome.”